Alphabet Drabbles
by elliemars
Summary: A set of 26 short ficlets based on that meme where you open your dictionary to a letter, pick a random word, and use it as a prompt. Seifer/Zell as a rule. Rated from PG to R.


**1. adventitious (adj.) : happening or carried on according to chance rather than design or inherent nature**

The iceberg came out of nowhere in the night. Luckily, only a few of the dorm rooms were flooded; and there were plenty of single-occupant rooms available to parcel out those few unfortunates whose rooms were currently submerged into... unluckily, Seifer was one of those unfortunates. Which is how he had gotten stuck trying to sleep on the most uncomfortable design of canvas and steel that anyone had ever had the sadistic grace to call a cot, silently cursing (in respective order) a series of gods, Squall, Quistis, his mother for ever having birthed him, Nida (who the hell decided it would be a good idea to try and navigate Trabian waters in the middle of the night, anyway?), icebergs in general and the rather large, pointy one that had so pleasantly woken him at 3:30 in the morning with a deluge of ice-cold water through the now non-existent wall of his dorm room in particular, and finally Zell, for thinking he was doing Seifer a favor offering up his room to share - "That way you don't have to room with a complete stranger!" the boy had chirped; who the fuck was that cheerful at four in the morning? _Psychopaths, that's who_, Seifer thought bitterly to himself, closing his eyes and dreaming wistfully of roommates who didn't snore, toss and turn endlessly on what must have been the loudest, squeakiest bed in existence, and talk to themselves in their sleep. If Zell murmured about hot dogs one more time, Seifer was going to fucking lose it.

**2. banter (n.) : the playful and friendly exchange of teasing remarks**

Quistis looked up from her book again, glancing across the aisle to where Seifer and Zell were sitting across from each other... silent. As silent as they'd been the entire train ride so far, in glaring contrast to the night before, when they'd been sniping at each other with escalating acrimony almost until she thought she might have to intervene to prevent them jumping at each other over the dinner table. It was odd - no, it was_abnormal_ for them not to be bickering, and Quistis couldn't suppress her curiosity any longer. She marked her page in the book and set it down on the seat, leaning across the aisle to engage Zell. He appeared to be lost in thought, staring dreamily out the window at the blurred green landscape - Seifer's gaze was likewise focused fuzzily at some point in the distance, and that they were both so completely wrapped up in thought only made her wonder harder about just what kind of thoughts could prompt such raptness in two people who, particularly, were never engaged otherwise when around each other.

"You two are awfully quiet this morning, is something wrong?" she asked, jarring Zell out of his thoughts, and he looked owlishly over at her.

"No? Sorry, just... preoccupied, I guess," he answered, shrugging a little. Quistis glanced over at Seifer, who gave a similar reaction, and she frowned.

"It makes a nice change from last night, I have to say. I practically had to pull you two apart from mauling each other."

Zell looked over - was she mistaken, or did he catch Seifer's eye for just a second? - and then he shrugged again, turning to face the window, but not quick enough to hide the wash of merest pink that coloured his cheeks - and now utterly bemused, Quistis turned to Seifer for conformation that this behavior was notably peculiar, but the gunblader was only smirking. What exactly was going on?

Zell sighed, and offered, "I guess we got it all out of our systems last night."

**3. challenge (v.) : invite someone to do something that one thinks will be difficult or impossible; dare**

"Give it up, Dincht," Seifer jeered, stepping lightly back out of the martial artist's range and swinging his gunblade nimbly at his side. "You can't beat me with pride, you oughta know that by now. If you give it up now I'll let you limp out of here with a little bit of your dignity left."

"Dream on, jackass," Zell sneered, hopping with masterful agility through the undergrowth that threatened to entangle his feet and toward Seifer, who was just steps away from backing himself into a corner, if only he didn't look around. He threw a quick succession of punches, deliberately lagging - he didn't want to hit Seifer, only push him back, and judging by the smirk on the other boy's smug face, his plan to lull him into thinking he was ahead was working. Seifer swung his blade forward and Zell dodged it with ease, but the other boy was still grinning.

"You're still a hundred years too early to beat me, chicken-wuss," he snarled, raising his arm to swing again just as his back hit the wall; his grin faltered, and Zell leapt forward like lightning, knocking the weapon from Seifer's grip with a swipe of his arm and delivering two precision strikes to the chest that had Seifer gasping for breath. He grabbed the front of Seifer's coat and threw him down to the ground with a deft twist of his arm, and then stood over him smirking and resisting the urge to actually laugh aloud as the gunblader's expression turned exceedingly sour.

"Still too early?" he trilled, extending a hand to Seifer, who ignored it, pulling himself to his feet.

"Big whoop, you got me. You've beat me before," Seifer said in a thornily ungracious tone of voice. "I wouldn't call that a particularly inventive dare."

"Oh, _beating_ you wasn't what they dared me to do," Zell replied in a low tone, grinning as he stepped forward, leaned up, and pulled Seifer closer by the lapels of his coat. "That was just for fun."

**4. demoralize (v.) : cause someone to lose confidence or hope**

"_Fuck_," Seifer moaned - _again_, Zell thought with annoyance; it would have almost been funny how utterly ineloquent the normally articulate man became when hungover, if he hadn't already been circumstantially pissed off by Seifer's simply being there - and he briefly abandoned his search for clothing to stumble into the bathroom, retching, as Zell, still feigning sleep, watched from the bed. Leave it to Irvine to spike the punch with something so toxic that Zell couldn't even remember filling up his cup a second time, let alone how he managed the monumentally perplexing feat of ending up naked in a bed with Seifer. He didn't have any doubts as to _what_ had happened - if his own aching back wasn't enough of a blatant giveaway, Seifer upon waking had had the distinctly horrified expression of someone who had just remembered doing something terrible and was trying to figure out how to expunge the unsavory memory - but _why_ was something of a different matter. Of all people to get virulently drunk and have crazy, wild (Zell was assuming, as he couldn't particularly remember himself) sex with, why Seifer? There were plenty of other eligible, attractive, less repugnant choices at that party.

Seifer came out of the bathroom, a blue silk tie hung around his neck and his shirt, a veritable canvas of liquor stains, including but not limited to what looked like red wine, the pale amber of whiskey, and the unmistakably glaring pink of that accursed punch, clasped loosely in one hand. He caught Zell's eye for just a second, and he looked away too quickly for there to be any question about what had happened the night before. Zell didn't say a word, only watching as the other man hastily buttoned up his shirt and practically ran out of the room, his eyes dutifully focused elsewhere. Zell sighed. Not a fighting word out of Seifer, not a single snarky quip, not a _peep_. Such a perfect opportunity to tease, denigrate, and deride Zell, as good as handed to him on a silver fucking platter, and he couldn't come up with _one_ single thing to say? Zell hated to think it, but maybe this incident was a bigger deal than he'd thought.

**5. economy size (adj.) : of a size that offers a large quantity for a proportionally lower cost**

"You're a dick," Seifer muttered as he came through the door, throwing it violently shut behind him. Zell, from the sofa, tossed aside his book, trying to smother the grin on his face, as it would surely only piss off his boyfriend the more, but he couldn't hold it in.

"What? It's a-" he paused to choke down the laughter that was forcing its way out at the purely priggish expression on Seifer's face, "-a bargain."

"That shop girl was fucking laughing at me," Seifer snarled, kicking the walls and anything else that happened into his path as he beelined for where Zell was sitting.

"Well, _you're_ the one who came over unprepared, sweetheart," Zell said before the giggles got the better of him, and he ducked as the family-size box of condoms came flying, smacking against the wall behind him, scattering packets everywhere, which naturally only made Zell want to laugh harder. He struggled to get himself under control, while Seifer stood watching with an increasingly hostile expression on his face. "If it's any consolation," he added, unable to resist smirking naughtily, "I can think of a lot of things we can do with a box that size..."

**6. falling (v.) : moving downward, typically rapidly and freely without control**

"Now, Seifer," Matron said in that no-nonsense tone that she saved specially for him, giving him The Look - the one that never failed to inspire fear and anxiety in the others, but Seifer had gotten it so often that some of the effect had worn off. "If you'll just tell me the truth, you can go back to playing. It doesn't give me any pleasure to have to punish you so much, you know."

Seifer didn't reply, staring resolutely at a small crack in the wall he was standing against. Like standing in the corner was such a terrible punishment, anyway - well, it wasn't like he enjoyed it, but it wasn't any worse than having to babysit that little brat Zell who went running to Matron every time he got a little cut or scrape. She just didn't understand that he was trying to toughen the crybaby up; Zell was never going to make it anywhere in life if he couldn't even stand up to Seifer.

"I want you to apologize to Zell for pushing him down on the rocks," Matron went on in her very matronly manner, making that ugly pinched face she always did when Seifer was being difficult. "He hurt his knee quite badly, you know."

"I didn't push him anywhere," Seifer said petulantly, staring into the corner. "He just keeps falling all over by himself."

"Seifer," she replied sternly, giving a quiet sigh. He said nothing, determined to be more stubborn than his caretaker - and he could be terribly stubborn when he had a mind, Matron ought to know that well. Besides, it wasn't like her punishments were all that awful. Seeing Zell cry was well worth a half hour standing in the corner, every time. He was just so cute at it.

**7. gospel (n.) : a thing that is absolutely true**

"Man, I really fucking hate you."

"Right back at you, chicken-wuss."

**8. haven (n.) : a place of safety or refuge**

"I can't believe Cid's letting him back in here," Zell murmured, stabbing his lunch with rather malicious intent as he scowled. "What does he want to come back to Garden for anyway? No one bloody wants him here."

Nida shrugged, long since tired of hearing Zell wax resentment on the subject, but he still had eighteen minutes of a lunch break left and sitting there listening to the other boy bellyache was honestly a better prospect than going back up to the cockpit to stand in awkward silence with Quistis and Squall. "Probably because nowhere else would have him," he offered for Zell's sake, although he knew from experience that it wouldn't make much of a difference to Zell's perpetually sour outlook on the incident either way. The blonde was determined to hold a grudge against Seifer's being admitted back into Garden, and nothing would change his mind on the subject.

"Yeah, you'd think the guy could take a hint, huh?" Zell said, poking holes in what had been a piece of meatloaf before he'd begun venting his anger on the unfortunate foodstuffs. Nida pursed his lips, shuffling the remains of a limp salad around on his plate.

"I heard from Xu that he had to beg Cid and Squall to let him back in," he remarked, and was slightly surprised when Zell brightened up upon hearing it, giving a twisted little grin.

"Serves him right, too," he replied coldly, smirking in a rather evil manner. Nida looked up at the clock, and sighed.

**9. immobilize (n.) : prevent someone or something from moving or operating as normal**

Seifer considered himself pretty tough; he was a match for just about anyone else in Garden (and more than a match for most of them); in a fair fight, or even in an unfair one, he was rarely caught off-guard, and he could count on one hand the number of times in recent years that someone had actually gotten the better of him in a spar (though his opponent each of those times had, coincidentally, been Zell). The kid was just too quick, even fighting bare-all, no junctions, and if he came in suited up with Haste there was no chance (not that he ever sparred with Zell anymore anyway; at least, not in the traditional sense.) But as far as the rest of Garden, there wasn't anyone Seifer couldn't hold his own against.

No, he thought to himself, in more ways than one, it was only Zell who could put him out of action with such ease. With one punch, with a simple fleeting touch, with a look. Yeah, Seifer was Zell's bitch, there was no debating that, but he grinned to himself; it really wasn't all that bad.

**10. jail (n.) : a place for the confinement of people accused or convicted of a crime**

"Bit ironic, isn't it?" the guard at the door remarked - fucking third guy to say it since Seifer arrived at this godforsaken hole in the desert; if he heard it one more time, someone was going to get one hell of a foot in their ass - and he ushered Seifer through the door toward the tiny solitary cell that was going to be his home for the next three to five years (if he was lucky.) Yeah, sure, it was practically the definition of irony, getting locked up in Galbadia's most notorious prison like the scum he used to so enjoy lording his power and prestige over, by the same guards who used to practically fight each other for the right to suck up to him. It was nothing if not ironic. Of course, his humiliation wouldn't be complete without everyone he encountered commenting on it.

"Looks like your glory days are over, huh, big shot?" the guard said, punching buttons with a meaty finger. Seifer watched the giant crane in the center of the tower whir to life, descending with a mechanical hum until it was out of sight. "I remember the days when you thought you were better than everyone else. Not feeling too high and mighty now, are you?"

"That's funny," Seifer replied in a low, even tone. "What I seem to remember is you and your cronies following me around like slobbering puppies and lining up to kiss my ass. I guess we must have different views."

The guard smirked, not bothered by Seifer's taunts. "Seems you still think you're better than us," he said, looking smug, as the crane came rumbling back up. "I think that torture chamber you loved so much is still installed upstairs. We could dust it off and see if it's got any life left in it."

"Looking forward to it," Seifer snarled, as the guard grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him into the tiny cell.

**11. kitsch (n.) : art, objects, or design considered to be in poor taste because of excessive garishness or sentimentality, but sometimes appreciated in an ironic or knowing way**

"Pink and ivory tile?" Seifer sneered, flipping the page in Zell's magazine with haughty contempt. "You might as well hang up a sign announcing that you're gay."

"Says the guy who keeps a cabinet devoted to _scented candles_ in his bathroom!" Zell shot back, flipping the page over again.

"You love my candles."

"It's _salmon_, anyway, not pink. It's supposed to be a contrasting point, against the blue," he explained, shrugging away from Seifer, who was leaning over his shoulder and peering into the magazine.

"Whatever it is, it's way camp," Seifer grunted.

"Excuse me, didn't you pick out the wallpaper with the dolphins on it? I can't say I'm inclined to let _you_ help me redecorate anything."

"Tough. I'm not giving you a choice. If I don't intervene, you're going to do something stupid, like tile your shower in pink. And as someone who uses your shower, I'm not willing to put up with that."

"It's _salmon_!"

**12. landscape (n.) : all the visible features of an area of countryside or land, often considered in terms of their aesthetic appeal**

"Check it ooouuuut!" Zell laughed gleefully, shielding his eyes with one hand as he stared across the ravine at the sunset, a massive red orb sinking into the glittering, coruscating sea. He'd seen a lot of different sunsets in his life - gray and purple ombre skies obscured by the dusty, tenebrous cover of desert clouds, the sun yellow against green skies in the deep, colourless mountains of Trabia - but sunsets over the sea were always his favorites. There was something very nostalgic about it; it reminded him of home, running around on the docks after dinner in the orange glow of dusk.

"Get back in the truck, Dincht!" Seifer called from down the road, looking distinctly piqued to have to wait. He gunned the engine, and yelled, "unless you want to walk back to Balamb!"

"Yeah, yeah, you impatient bastard," Zell murmured, grinning, as he trotted down the road.

**13. marvel (v.) : be filled with wonder or astonishment**

"Seifer," Quistis said with a smile, setting her lunch tray down on the table next to him, despite the very unwelcoming expression on his face. "Could I ask you to go to the station this afternoon and pick up the cadets?"

"You can ask all you want," he replied, turning the other way. Zell, from the other side of the table, gave him a sharp kick in the shin, and he yelped.

"Don't be a dick," he warned.

"Don't tell me what to do, Dincht," Seifer snarled back.

"So," Quistis cut in, adjusting her glasses, "you'll go for me? Good."

"I've said nothing of the sort."

"He'll go," Zell answered, shoveling noodles into his mouth. Quistis looked to Zell, frowning slightly at his speaking for Seifer, who was scowling deeply.

"I will not," he said testily, glaring at Zell. "Since when do you speak for me?"

"What else've you got to do?" Zell retorted. Seifer didn't answer, and Quistis looked between the two of them, hesitating before speaking again.

"The train gets in at three," she said tentatively. Seifer gave her a dirty look, and then glanced back at Zell, who was staring rather pointedly at him. She watched closely, feeling bewildered - they seemed to be having some sort of silent debate, and damned if Quistis understood what about - but a moment later, Seifer stood up brusquely, snatching up his lunch tray in a huff.

"Alright, whatever," he said, stalking away. Zell gave a little triumphant smile, shooting a quirky grin at Quistis, who looked completely dumbfounded, and it was a minute before she said anything.

"How did you... how did you do that? He doesn't listen to a _thing_ I say!" she finally said, her tone filled with awe. Zell only shrugged, slurping noodles.

"Jus' like training a dog," he said.

**14. nonentity (n.) : a person or thing of no importance**

Two skippers, two students with overdue fees, and a solid handful of kids running in the halls, all caught - a good day's work, all in all. Seifer sat back in his chair, flipping through his paperwork.

"Well, what now?" Raijin mused.

"It's almost curfew," Fuujin offered, pacing on the other side of the table. "If we stake out the training center, we can probably nab a half dozen more before the end of the day."

Seifer nodded, about to answer just as something rushed past outside the door in a very blonde and familiar sort of way. He grinned to himself and stood up. _What a perfect way to end a good day,_ he thought to himself, walking to the door, followed by Raijin.

"Who was that?" he asked, peering around Seifer's shoulder. "Dincht again?"

"I wonder where he's going so fast," Seifer said wonderingly, his lips curled in a smirk. "And if he'll get there before curfew?"

"Oh, leave him, Seifer," Fuujin scoffed, rolling her eye. "Dincht's not worth our time. If we split up and cover all... _Seifer_."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving her comment away like a pesky fly, and ignoring the irritated huffing that followed. She just didn't get it. It was _always_ worth going out of his way to catch Dincht breaking the rules; it was so much _fun_. And if she didn't want to participate, that just meant that there was more fun for him.

**15. outshine (v.) : to shine more brightly than someone or something**

"Well, look at you!" Rinoa exclaimed, clapping her daintily-gloved hands together as Seifer approached. He gave her a winning grin, ignoring the displeased scowls of her boyfriend, who was standing nearby and not looking too happy that Seifer had shown up for the after party - not like it was his fault that he looked better than Squall did in uniform.

"I clean up well, don't you think?" he replied, smiling. He could finally understand why Squall was always strutting around Garden like he owned the place - there was something about wearing the SeeD uniform that was uplifting to one's ego. And Seifer knew he looked particularly dashing in formal wear; he had come to the party fully prepared to spend all night rubbing Squall's prissy face in the fact.

"Oh, my," Rinoa said next, leaning to peer around Seifer at the doorway, and he turned to see what she was looking at - blimey, was that...?

"Is that Zell?" Squall said, sounding almost astonished. Rinoa giggled, clutching her escort's arm and looking positively giddy.

"He's all dressed up! I've never seen him so..." she trailed off, evidently lost for words, and only after a long minute finally went on, "...dashing!"

Seifer resisted the urge to scoff and roll his eyes, but just barely. So the chicken was all dressed up. Alright, he looked good in uniform... well, rather good, actually; not that Seifer was into that sort of thing, or anything, but from an impartial point of view, the boy did look very _dashing_ in dress, his hair slicked back instead of fanned up in that ridiculous crest... and was Seifer seeing things, or did he suddenly seem _taller_?

"Sorry, Seif," Rinoa said with a fluttery little laugh, patting his arm consolingly, "but I think you've been outdone."

**16. parting (n.) : the action of leaving or being separated from someone**

There was a knock on the door, and Zell leaned out of the bathroom, slapping at the panel on the wall with his elbow until the front door slid open. Quistis came in slowly, frowning as she caught sight of him. "What are you doing?"

"Eh?" he said, holding up his hands, covered in sticky, wet gel, for explanation. Quistis shook her head, her frown etched deep.

"I repeat..."

"I'll be ready in a minute," Zell said, ducking back into the bathroom and swiping at his hair. She stood in the doorway, watching with a slightly worried sidelong glance. "Is it time to go already?" he asked distractedly, twisting his hair into spikes. Quistis sighed, rubbing at the dark rings under her eyes.

"Yes, it's time to go. You don't have to do your hair," she said wearily.

"I'll only be a sec," he replied, nudging the tap with his wrist and rinsing his hands under the water.

"Zell," she began, voice steady, and then trailed off. Zell looked up at her, and for a minute both were silent. Her eyes were hooded and tired, her skin dull and papery; the fine lines that had been appearing gradually on her face over the past few years seemed suddenly much more prominent, as if carved into her skin. She cast a studying look over him, and remarked, "you're not wearing your SeeD uniform."

"Neither are you," he said, straightening his tie; he never did like wearing suits. Quistis nodded, adjusting her wide-brimmed black hat and tucking a few stray wisps of hair back into it.

"I thought I'd piss Squall off one last time on his behalf by not adhering to dress code regulations," she answered with a weak smile, smoothing the front of her plain gray dress. Zell grinned, and reached out to take her arm.

"Guess we had the same idea," he said, and led her out the door.

**17. quisling (n.) : a traitor who collaborates with an enemy force, occupying their country**

It wasn't exactly that Seifer was nervous; he was pretty good at keeping his cool, always had been (the brief episode at the Timber TV station aside), but this was... this was just so _big_. Almost overwhelming, in a sense - just yesterday, he'd been nothing more than a delinquent cadet, locked like a naughty kid in the detention center at Garden... and tonight he would be standing at the sorceress' side as she overthrew the most powerful man in the nation and announced the beginning of her reign. Who would have thought?

He couldn't help but grin at the thought of what Squall and his lackeys were going to do when they saw him again. Okay, so maybe it was a _little_ callous, letting everyone think he was dead, but since when did he owe them anything? Nobody at Garden had ever treated him decently (sure, heading the Disciplinary Committee commanded a certain small amount of respect, but it was so grudgingly given that it was hardly worth it at all). He found he almost couldn't wait to see the expressions on their faces - well, excepting Squall, who as far as Seifer knew had never been known to have an expression on his face - when he rode out on that float standing next to his Matron. The only thing that would make it better is if they had some kind of assassination plot going (he wouldn't put it past those Galbadian government dogs); getting a chance to add a few more scars to Squall's pretty face would be the highlight of the evening. Seifer was no longer the errant, reckless cadet who had only failed the SeeD exam; and soon enough, everyone would finally see that.

**18. refinement (n.) : sophisticated and superior good taste**

"Hmmm..." Seifer said, looking around, his expression that of one rather impressed despite himself. "This is actually... pretty decent."

"It's fabulous and you know it," Zell shot back, looking somewhat offended that Seifer wasn't completely in love with his new bathroom suite - although considering the unfortunate dolphin episode, the fact that the other man was acknowledging that the new decor was anything less than heinous was something of an improvement. "Ma helped me with the colour scheme."

"You had your mum help you decorate your new bathroom? I take it back," Seifer said with a scowl, rolling his eyes. "I knew you couldn't come up with something this tasteful on your own."

"Says Seifer 'salmon is _so_ camp!' Almasy," Zell spat. "Who are you to talk about taste?"

"At least I don't have to have _Selphie_ arrange my wardrobe for me to look good," Seifer bit acrimoniously, and Zell gasped, unable to retort for a full five seconds.

"Too bad you think so! I was going to show you the best part of the new suite-" the martial artist paused for emphasis, and with a dramatic flair, whipped the shower curtain aside to reveal the massive tub he'd had specially installed in place of the old one, "but since you've made it clear you don't want anything to do with me and my _bad taste_ and my _king-size tub_..."

He turned and flounced out of the bathroom in high dudgeon, stopping just outside and waiting... it would only be a few moments... he started to count in his head.

"Alright, alright," Seifer huffed, storming out of the bathroom behind him. "Maybe I was wrong..."

**19. scorching (adj.) : very hot**

"I gotta say, I've never been so glad to lose a bet..." Zell said, flopping on the couch. Seifer, entering the dorm room behind him, made a sour face.

"I can't believe you'd bet against me," he said with just a touch of pique.

"I can't believe you'd be surprised by that," Zell replied.

"I mean, did you really not think I'd make SeeD?" Seifer asked, crossing his arms and slowly making his way across the room. Zell bit his lip, trying to hold in a snicker - so _that's_ what Seifer had been so bent out of shape about all night?

"I knew you could do it," he said in reply, shrugging nonchalantly, "but I can't exactly go around bein' your personal cheerleader, can I, seein' as we're supposed to be mortal enemies or somethin'?"

"Or something, hm?" was all Seifer said, still pacing.

"Are you bothered by it?"

"I figured _you_ would be," he said.

Zell gave a sheepish grin, shaking his head. "Look, it is what it is. We both knew goin' into this thing that it was going to be weird more than anything else. Honestly, I'd rather not have anyone know about us - I been thinkin' on it for months, and I _still_ can't come up with a way to tell Quistis that don't end with her head exploding..."

Seifer smiled in spite of himself, and sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have a problem with that," he said.

"And besides," Zell added with a fiendish grin, rising from his seat and stepping close to the other man. "There's something really fun about a secret, don't you think...?"

**20. theorize (v.) : form a theory or set of theories about something**

"I'm telling you, something's going on there," Selphie insisted through a sticky mouthful of cake, waving her fork with vehement emphasis. Irvine only shook his head.

"You're letting your imagination run off, sweetheart," he said with a skeptical smile.

"No, I'm serious!" she said, and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, despite the fact that there were a half dozen tables between them and the only other few people in the cafeteria. "Quisty thinks something's fishy, too. They haven't been fighting for weeks."

"So they've grown out of it," Irvine offered in explanation, shrugging. "They've matured. Fighting a war'll do that to ya."

"It's not just that. They're actually, like, _hanging out_. Like, _friendly_."

"If you ask me, Seifer could use some friends. Maybe it'd stop him being so mopey all the damn time."

Selphie scowled darkly at him across the table. "Can you please take this seriously?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," he replied, shaking his head. "Who cares if Zell and Seifer are friends? It ain't any of your business."

"They're _more_ than friends, that's what I'm trying to tell you!" she hissed, leaning over the table and casting furtive looks around to make sure no one was listening in. "Last week, I saw Seifer leaving Zell's room at six in the morning-"

"What were you doing up at six in the morning?" Irvine interrupted.

"I was coming back from a party! That's not the point! Explain that one away, smart guy!" she snorted. Irvine paused, and thought for a moment.

"Hallucination."

"You're being _deliberately_ obtuse."

"So what if I am?" he scoffed, but after a second of thought, he leaned close to her, his expression stern, and continued, "look, supposing that there _was_ something fishy going on - and I'm not sayin' I believe that there is - what do you care about it? It's not any of your business, and if it makes the two of them happy, why would you wanna take that away?"

Selphie pondered this with a wide-eyed expression for a moment or two, her brow furrowed in contemplation. She stared at Irvine, frowning, before her lips stretched into a devious grin. "You know something," she declared.

"What?" he laughed, weakly, and turned his head to the side. "You got to do something about that imagination of yours, sweetheart. It's gettin' the better of you. Stop that," he added as she stared unabated at him with intent eyes. "I don't know nothin'. Don't give me that look. _Selphie_."

A few quiet seconds passed. "Selphie," he said again, his voice wavering. She firmly held her stare, and he broke into a sweat.

"Tell me," she demanded.

"I can't," he whimpered. Selphie grabbed his wrist and held it to the table with a vicegrip. For a very long couple of moments they sat in a stalemate, eyes locked. Then Irvine jumped up, snatching up the plate with the crumbling half piece of cake on it, sitting abandoned between them, and flung it toward Selphie's face. She squealed, and he spun around and dashed off between the tables, calling back over his shoulder, "sorry!"

"Come back, you bastard!" she yelled, wiping chunks of cake out of her eyes and smearing chocolate across her face. "I'll get it out of you!"

**21. unorthodox (adj.) : not conventional in belief, behavior, custom, etc.; not conforming to methods or attitudes that are generally accepted**

He'd thrown back a shot of whiskey before leaving his room - mostly as a precautionary measure; so that if this ended up completely blowing up in his face, as it more likely than not would, at least he'd have the smell of alcohol on his breath to take some of the blame - but it hadn't done much to alleviate the nervousness that crawls up and down his spine as he stands outside Zell's door for fifteen of the longest seconds of his life. When Zell, after several lifetimes, finally gets around to opening it, Seifer doesn't wait for an invitation before shoving his way through the door, slamming it shut behind him, and attributing the fact that doing that actually works to Zell's sleepy, befuddled expression - _mmm,_ why was that so _attractive?_ - and the fact that he'd clearly just rolled out of bed.

He only gets out a few words, something about _what the fuck do you think you're doing here_ before Seifer cuts him off, backing him up to the wall, and Zell really must be dozy, he'd never let Seifer corner him under normal circumstances - normal circumstances being not in the wee hours of the morning, as they'd fought each other under just about every other circumstance available. Seifer mumbles something, _shut the fuck up_or _don't ask questions_, and Zell, looking less sleepy and more angry with each passing second, is about to answer in fashion until Seifer cuts him off with a kiss that seems a lot less unexpected than it should be, or maybe he's just so nervous that it feels that way. Zell doesn't sock him in the face, the stomach, or the balls, which makes Seifer's experiment half a success already, which is better than he'd anticipated. Neither is Zell reciprocating - he appears to be simply waiting for Seifer to finish what he's doing, in the meantime mentally debating whether or not he should kick Seifer's ass. Even if he does, Seifer figures he's still gotten further than he ever expected to. In fact, a good sharp slap in the face, just to prove that he's not actually dreaming this up, wouldn't go amiss right about now.

Instead, the next thing Seifer's aware of is the back of his head cracking into the bedpost - which was not, if the apologetic little grin on Zell's face is any indication, the other man's intention as he herds Seifer toward the bed, and they end up instead in a tangled mess of legs and arms and sheets on the floor. Seifer's head is spinning, and he wonders if it's because of his skull being bashed into a wooden post, or the result of the amazing, fierce, _mmm_, where did he learn _that_? kiss and Zell's hands under his shirt - and then not, as his shirt goes flying into the corner, discarded - everything seems terribly unreal; maybe that knock of whiskey was hitting him harder than he'd thought. Zell leans over with a smirk on his face, pure mischief, and murmurs something that sounds too good to be true, so Seifer has to ask him to repeat it. And with a laugh, the boy does, his lips brushing teasingly against Seifer's ear as he wonders _what fucking took you so long?_

**22. vet (v.) : investigate someone thoroughly, esp. in order to ensure that they are suitable for a job requiring secrecy, loyalty, or trustworthiness**

"You think it's wise to put Seifer on this?" Zell said with some doubt, chewing the end of his pen as he carefully went through the mission documents for the nth time that night. Xu, across from him, gave a wearying sigh, and kicked her legs up on the table.

"Even if I don't, we don't appear to have any choice," she admitted, rubbing tired eyes under her glasses. She glanced over at Squall, who was frowning deeply, looking as frustrated as they all must have felt. He shook his head and gave a weak shrug, clearly at a loss.

"We've got to put him back to work sometime," was all the answer he gave.

"Yeah, but..." Zell began, paused, and went on, "I mean... this is a serious assignment."

"You'll be with him," Squall added. Zell laughed scornfully.

"Yeah, because _my_ presence is likely to make him _more_ cooperative, not less."

"Look, it comes down to this: Seifer knows more about the Galbadian underground than all three of us could discover in months of undercover work," Xu interjected, holding her hands up as if in defeat. "Do we need that knowledge enough to risk the fact that he might turn on us?"

"Zell's worked with him the most since the war," Squall pointed out, glancing over at the blonde for confirmation. "Do you think he can handle this mission?"

"Shit, of course he _can_," Zell replied, huffing. "Seifer could probably handle anything if he wanted to, he just don't like people to know it. He likes to be underestimated." He paused for another moment, scratching his brow with the end of his pen. Then he added, "it's more of a matter of _will_ he do it or not. Case you hadn't noticed, the guy's a bit of a prick. And he don't particularly like working with me, either."

Xu giggled, but Squall's expression remained impassive. "What it really comes down to, then, is this," he said, giving Zell a very grave stare. "Do you trust him enough to take him on this mission with you?"

Zell thought about it, but only for a moment or two, and he grinned wryly, at a loss for any further argument. "Yeah," he admitted, sighing in defeat. "Yeah, I do."

**23. wastrel (n.) : an idler; a vagabond; a good-for-nothing**

"You plannin' to fucking mooch off me forever?" Zell asked, scowling as he came through the door to find Seifer lying on the couch in exactly the same spot he'd been in an hour ago, when Zell left. "You could get up and do something, you know," he grumbled, dropping the grocery bags on the counter and shooting cold glares at the back of Seifer's head through the doorway. "Clean, maybe. Or go out and find a fucking _job_. Why do I even bother," he groused to himself, continuing to curse vaguely under his breath as he unpacked his bags.

"Yeah, yeah," Seifer said, waving his hand dismissively over his shoulder. Zell fumed.

"Get in here and fucking help me with this," he commanded, and Seifer rose grudgingly from the couch. "You can bloody well do _something_ resembling housework, can't you?"

"Where did you learn to nag like that?" Seifer wondered as he came into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "You're worse than a wife."

"Hey, if anyone's the wife around here, it's _you_," Zell said, gesturing harshly at Seifer with a packet of frozen chicken breast. "I'm the one who pays the fucking bills, don't forget."

Seifer only grinned, strolling casually across the room. "Oh, don't worry," he said softly, coming up behind Zell and smirking as the other man tensed when he felt Seifer's hand on his hip. He leaned close, putting his lips to Zell's ear, and purred, "I haven't forgotten..."

**24. xylography (n.) : the art of making woodcuts or wood engravings, esp. by a relatively primitive technique**

Zell had been up since sunrise, working tirelessly over that stupid radio he was still trying to build. As if you could build a fucking radio out of gnarled pieces of tree bark and vines, but hey, it wasn't hurting anybody to let the kid waste his time with it, and it kept him out of Seifer's way. But around noon, he couldn't suppress his curiosity any longer and he tramped across their makeshift camp to see just what Zell was up to.

"Whittling," the boy answered, shaving away at a hunk of knotted, soggy wood. Seifer scowled.

"Whittling? What the fuck for?"

"To make a casing for the radio bits. In case it rains or something," Zell explained, as if trying to reassemble a grievously crushed radio transmitter in the middle of the jungle was something he often did for pleasure. Seifer whacked him across the back of the head.

"Don't be fucking daft," he snarled, stomping back to his side of the clearing, slashing randomly at the trees and bushes with his gunblade. "You're never gonna refigure that fucking radio. Come and do something fucking useful, like help me find some fucking food, unless you want to sit around this fucking jungle until we both fucking starve!"

"Give me a few minutes," Zell mumbled over his project, carving away at the block of wood. Seifer only rolled his eyes, fed up with Zell's nonsense, and he stormed off into the trees, hacking at the undergrowth angrily.

And two days later, when Ragnarok caught their signal and came swooping down through the canopy to rescue them, Zell was merciful enough to only look a bit smug about it.

**25. yield (v.) : give way to arguments, demands, or pressure**

How did he let Seifer get him into a corner? No, never mind that; why the hell was the center suddenly totally empty? Last Zell had looked around, there had been plenty of people hanging around, and he had a feeling that a few witnesses standing by wouldn't go awry right then. Seifer had a very sinister look on his face, and he just kept moving closer, despite the fact that there was nowhere else for Zell to back up to.

"Nowhere to go, Dincht," Seifer remarked, as if echoing Zell's thoughts.

"Back off, or I'll whack you," Zell warned back, only a second later wishing he had the mental agility to come up with better threats. He just wasn't that good on the spur of the moment and he'd used up all of his pre-thought out insults in the fight earlier.

"If you were gonna hit me you'd have hit me already," Seifer said coolly, which was probably true; Zell didn't know why he hadn't clobbered him a good one already, but there was something sordidly satisfying about being pinned to a wall by Seifer. "Gonna fight back? I don't think so," the gunblader went on. Zell glowered, giving Seifer the dirtiest glare he could.

"I'd kick your arse into next week, 'cept you're hardly worth my time," he sneered. Seifer laughed.

"No you won't, chicken... you're too curious. You want to know what my motive is," Seifer said, leaning close, and Zell felt that it might be a bad idea to move away, so he didn't.

"Get the fuck offa me," Zell demanded, reaching up to shove the other man away, but Seifer caught his wrists and held him against the wall.

"I'll let you go, if you do something for me," he cooed, his voice so deep and smooth it sent a shiver through Zell.

"Fuck off!"

"No," Seifer replied simply, pressing the smaller boy more insistently against the wall and showing no signs of relenting until Zell acquiesced. Zell's knees felt weak, and he momentarily wondered if now would be a good time to get the hell away from Seifer when the gunblader spoke again. "Close your eyes."

"Why should I?"

"Because," Seifer said quietly, "you don't know what I'll do if you don't comply."

"I don't know what you'll do if I _do_," Zell retorted.

"That's why it's fun for me," Seifer shot back, grinning maddeningly. He suddenly moved closer, his face inches from Zell's, that same superior smirk on his lips. Zell felt his heart skip a beat, but there was nowhere else to retreat to, and he realized with a sudden, strange apprehension that Seifer was going to kiss him. Why else was he so damnably close? Zell could feel Seifer's breath on his lips, and he found he actually rather_wanted_ Seifer to kiss him; there was so much tension in the air, it would be a waste not to. _Aw, hell,_ he thought wryly, _that is so not_ right!

He squeezed his eyes shut and waited; the seconds drew out for an eternity, Seifer's lips not inches from his own. Seifer laughed, and suddenly released him, and Zell looked up, confused. The other man was smirking triumphantly, and he slapped Zell's face lightly. "Cute, chicken."

"You... you bastard!" Zell sputtered as Seifer turned and walked away through the brush, leaning heavily against the wall to support himself and wishing that his heart wouldn't beat so fast.

**26. zonk (v.) : fall or cause to fall suddenly and heavily asleep or lose consciousness**

"Hmm... Seif..." Zell mumbled drowsily, grinning as he swept sweat-damp hair from his eyes and laid back on the bed. Seifer, beside him, leaned up, resting on his elbow to look over at his lover.

"What?"

"I love you," he said, his grin turning sheepish as he looked up at Seifer, his sleepy blue eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks gently flushed with colour. Seifer had never in his life known anything as gorgeous as Zell in bed - not that he would admit that; it was too cheesy... but it was fine to think to himself. He nodded in response, his face impassive. Zell looked away, but he didn't look unhappy.

"You don't gotta say nothin' back, I know you don't feel the same way," he said, his tone languid and throaty the way he got after sex. That tone never failed to make Seifer want to squeeze Zell in a bear hug, it was just too cute. Instead, he settled for sinking down into the mattress next to Zell, staring silently up at the ceiling. "I just..." Zell went on after a few moments of sleepy silence, "...I dunno... like saying it. Don't worry 'bout it."

Seifer hesitated a couple seconds, and then sat up again, turning to look at Zell, but the other man was already fast asleep, his breathing slow and deep. Seifer scoffed quietly to himself, but he was smiling as he watched Zell for a moment or two. "Fucking idiot," he said under his breath, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from Zell's face, and marveling at how fast someone could fall asleep. It was no wonder he thought Seifer didn't love him; he was out too quickly to give him a chance to say it. But that was okay, Seifer thought to himself; it was better if no one witnessed his cheesy moments. That was how he preferred it, he decided, as he bent over to whisper in Zell's ear. 


End file.
